


Undeniable

by cookiegirl



Category: White Collar
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Pre-Slash, Pre-Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 03:43:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15501582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiegirl/pseuds/cookiegirl
Summary: It would be easier, Peter thinks, if Copenhagen wasn't so damn romantic.





	Undeniable

**Author's Note:**

> For Slashorific 2018, for the picture prompt: Copenhagen (Nyhavn harbor).

Everything would be easier, Peter thinks, if Copenhagen wasn’t so damn romantic. He’s not usually one to notice things like that, but even he can’t miss the way that the October late-afternoon sun turns the water in Nyhavn harbor golden, and deepens the burnt orange and burnished yellow shades of the townhouses. Tourist couples stroll past, hand in hand, or sit close together at the outdoor tables of the tiny canalside cafes, and the air swirls with happy chatter and the strains of restaurant music. It is undeniably idyllic, and it’s making Peter’s skin itch.

Things would also be easier, of course, if Neal wasn’t so damn… _Neal_.

“Told you it was beautiful, didn’t I?” Neal says as they walk, in a way that sounds like he’s taking credit for the city’s entire aesthetic. As though he created Copenhagen from scratch just to impress Peter.

“Well, take it in,” Peter says gruffly. “It’ll be the last time you’re out of the States for a while.” It’s unnecessary to point it out - mean, even - but the fact that Peter was able to get approval from the higher-ups for Neal to travel here is nothing short of a miracle, and reminding Neal of that fact allows Peter to assert some of the control he feels is fast slipping through his fingers.

Neal doesn’t seem perturbed. “What about this place?” he says, stopping in front of one of the restaurants. It’s busy without being crowded, and the rich scent of beef bourguignon drifts from the interior. There’s a canopy over the outside seating area, and it’s draped with tiny white fairy lights and garlands of green eucalyptus. 

Peter frowns. It looks like the sort of place lovers go. “It looks pricey,” he says out loud.

Neal waves a hand dismissively. “You’re claiming it back on expenses,” he points out, and Peter can’t argue with that.

“Fine.” There’s no other plausible reason to argue. “But let’s sit inside,” Peter says, wanting to get away from the unrelenting picturesqueness of the harbour. “It’s freezing out here.”

“That’s why they have the blankets on the chairs,” Neal says, indicating the thick fur throws draped over the back of the seats, and Peter notices that several of the patrons have them wrapped around their shoulders or draped over their legs.

“I don’t want to eat dinner in a blanket,” Peter mutters, but Neal is already talking to the hostess, and soon they are sitting at a tiny table that is barely big enough for one person, let alone two. Their knees are touching, and Peter wishes, not for the first time, that none of this was happening. He wishes that Neal hadn’t spent weeks cultivating a relationship with the lower-level members of a gang whose leader the FBI were desperate to catch, and he wishes that the heist that will finally give Neal chance to meet the leader hadn’t ended up being planned for Denmark instead of the US. He wishes that he was able to book two hotel rooms instead of one; he wishes that when they checked into the room earlier that day, Neal hadn’t decided to take a shower and come out of the bathroom wearing only a towel, his hair dripping water onto his shoulders as he rifled through his bags for fresh clothes. He wishes that Neal hadn’t persuaded him to come out and enjoy a little of the local atmosphere before they get to work tomorrow.

Mostly, he wishes that none of these things were a problem for him, and that he’d never started feeling this way.

“Peter,” Neal says, and Peter jerks his head up, tearing his eyes away from the menu that he’d been staring at but not reading. Neal is watching him closely.

“Are you okay?” Neal asks, cocking his head to the side slightly. 

“Cold,” Peter says, ineloquently. Neal leans forward, and for one stupid, ridiculous moment Peter thinks he is going to kiss him - going to warm Peter’s lips with his own. But Neal leans past Peter, reaching around him to grab the furry blanket from the back of Peter’s chair.

“Put this over your knees,” Neal says, dropping it softly onto Peter’s lap, and settling back into his own chair. Peter blinks stupidly for a moment, then fumbles with the blanket, shaking it out and putting it over his legs. It’s surprisingly warm and heavy.

“Better?” Neal asks. He’s got one eyebrow slightly raised and Peter can’t help but feel that Neal knows exactly what he’s doing. Knows exactly how close he got to Peter just then; knows just what sort of sight he was earlier coming out of the shower.

Peter ignores him and turns back to the menu. A waitress approaches, lights the candle on their table and smilingly tells them about the specials. Peter nods absently and agrees to order whatever the last one was. Something with chicken, he thinks. Neal orders them a bottle of wine and Peter tries not to notice the way the candelight flickers over his face, highlighting his cheekbones.

“Thank you for this,” Neal says, after the waitress leaves.

“For dinner?” Peter says. “On expenses, like you said.”

“No, I mean… for agreeing not to stay in the hotel and order room service and go over the plan for tomorrow like you wanted. You were right when you said I’m not getting out of New York again any time soon. So thanks, for giving me the chance to see some of the city.”

Peter swallows. “No problem.” And honestly, he supposes it’s probably for the best. Being out with Neal in such romantic surroundings is hard, but being stuck in a small hotel room with him might have been even harder.

Neal grins at him, then shivers. “Can we share your blanket?” he asks. “I haven’t got one.”

Peter frowns and looks at the back of Neal’s chair, but he’s right - there’s no blanket. “I’ll ask the waitress for another one,” he says, but Neal shakes his head and reaches under the table to tug at Peter’s. 

“It’ll cover us both,” Neal says as he rearranges the blanket so it’s draped over both of their legs, and their knees are touching again. His hand brushes against Peter’s thighs as he does it and Peter tenses, holding himself perfectly still. He’s barely breathing as he tries to think of a reasonable way to extract himself from this position.

“That’s better,” Neal says, leaning back. He adjusts his position slightly, and Peter isn’t sure if he’s imagining the way that Neal’s knee nudges gently against his.

“Elizabeth would love it here,” Neal adds, apropos of nothing. 

Peter nods. “She would. She’s always loved Europe.”

Neal smiles. “What does she think about you taking someone else here?” he asks, jokingly. “Having a romantic city break with your C.I. instead of her?” This time Peter definitely doesn’t imagine the way Neal’s knee rubs his.

Peter doesn’t know what to say to that. Or rather, he does. He knows exactly what El thinks about him coming here with Neal, because El was very clear about it. Very clear what she thought should happen on this little trip. And Peter protested, and told her that she was wrong, even though he knows she never is.

“Does she mind?” Neal presses, and his tone is a little less light this time, as though he really needs to hear the answer. As though it’s not just a quip, or idle curiosity.

And Peter should shut this down. Say that of course El would mind if he happened to be having a romantic city break with someone else, so it’s a good job that he’s only here on business.

But he doesn’t. Because he and Neal have lied to each other so many times in so many ways, even if Neal insists he’s never done it outright, and Peter has had enough.

“She’s fine with it,” he admits, and meets Neal’s gaze. 

Neal’s eyes widen. He stares at Peter, and there’s a moment when either one of them could brush this off as meaning nothing, as a joke, the way they always do.

And the moment passes, and neither of them brush it off. The air thickens.

"Really?" Neal says.

"Really."

Neal swallows; Peter sees his Adam’s apple rise and fall. Then Neal slides his hand under the blanket and lets it rest against Peter’s knee. It’s warm through the fabric of his pants, but it’s only a light touch, a graze really, and Peter could shake it off so easily.

Instead, Peter slides his own hand under the blanket, and places it over Neal’s.

“This is… reckless,” Peter says. “And complicated. And there are so many things to…” He stops. He’s said this a thousand times in his head, and he can’t remember the best version of it. He’s pretty sure the best version didn’t start anything like that. But Neal is smiling: soft, genuine, uncalculated, and his eyes are shining.

“We’ll work it out,” Neal says, squeezing Peter’s hand, and Peter thinks: _Yes. We will._


End file.
